Time & Time Again
by The Crane Wife
Summary: it's not just that she's his best friend or that she drives him all kinds of crazy. It's not she's the person he calls when he needs to talk or just when he needs to listen. Dribs & drabs, featuring delightful suits, lots of scotch, and the occasional (constant) Barson love.
1. Energy

Hello, friends. Here's my first foray into Barson life. I'm into it. Prompt is Energy, from this weeks The Barson Daily tumblr. 300 words, on the nose. Enjoy!

The Crane Wife x

/

Sometimes, this job is… Hard. Grating. _Horrifying_. This week has been _that_ , and then some.

Rafael can't shake the case: a 6 year old was raped by his stepfather. There were cigarette burns on his little body, round and red, bubbled over, elastic looking.

Olivia relays the gruesome details, in Rafael's office. He listens to her describe how horrible she thinks it is, how sick she feels. And then he watches her leave, without asking whether she wants to go drink this case away or what's the silver lining in their line of work today? Even though he _really_ wants to.

When he's sure she's gone, he grabs his coat and shrugs it over his shoulders. He turns the lights off, shuts the door, and tries to leave the case locked somewhere in his office.

\

He's somewhere between awake and asleep. He can feel his body twitching, his sweat that's soaked through the sheets, his hands that have curled into fists.

Thatlittleboythatlittleboy _thatlittleboy_.

Rafael bolts up right, his heart racing.

He's fully awake now.

That little boy deserved so much better.

/

Rafael migrated from the bed to the couch. There's no hope of sleep tonight, which perhaps is why he doesn't feel surprised when his phone rings and the bright, white lettering tells him it's Olivia.

When he answers, he puts the phone to his ear, but doesn't say anything. She allows him this pause, but then says, "Rafael?" and he recognizes the concern in her voice.

He sighs, "How do you have the energy for this? After all this time…"

"We helped him," she answers, reading his mind.

"Did we?" He's incredulous.

Immediately, she says, "Yes! Yes, of course we did. We got him away from his stepdad."

He mulls this over, before he responds, "Not soon enough."


	2. Frayed Nerves

Takes place immediately after Sanctuary. Mild spoilers as a result. Enjoy!

/

When Dodd's leaves, Rafael stays in Olivia's office, watching her gather up her things. _You should leave work here tonight_ , he thinks, but doesn't say. Instead, he leans back in the chair he's found himself in, feigning some level of comfort, when in fact, he's nervous as hell. "Liv," he says, matter-of-factly, desperate to get her to stop what she's doing and pay attention to him. He wants to talk about the case, talk about what he meant when he said that she could corroborate the story without lying.

 _People have done that for you before, Liv. And this, this is hardly the same._

"Barba," she finally responds, her voice forceful, teetering on angry. "What? What do you want from me?"

Taken aback, he says nothing. The question is loaded and he's not sure any of his answers are going to be good ones. They've just heard about the bombing in East Harlem. Their nerves are frayed after the Samra case. Still: what _does_ he want? After a silence that's gone on too long, he manages to get out, "I want you to not be angry with me."

Olivia tosses her phone, keys, and a notebook into her briefcase, before becoming still enough to look him in the eyes, "I'm not mad. I told you I wasn't upset and I meant it. That's becoming increasingly less true the longer we have this conversation." She sighs and stares at her desk. "It's been a really long week. I'm exhausted. My son will probably be asleep when I get home, which means I haven't put him to bed in 3 days," at this, she looks at him and he's alarmed to see that her eyes are brimming over with tears. "I just can't do this. Not tonight."

"Liv, I—"

"We can talk tomorrow, okay?"

Rafael nods, but it's reluctant. "I'm holding you to that," he says, as she picks up her bag and coat. He realizes this is his cue and he stands. "Have a good night, Lieutenant," he tells her pointedly, as he walks out.


	3. Because

Part 2 of chapter 2! Much longer than I was expecting, but voila!

/

Tomorrow comes and goes.

It's Thursday. Liv calls in sick, today and tomorrow – because she needs a day off; because she's embracing Dr. Lindstrom's notion that the world can survive without her; because she hasn't spent the day with Noah in too long and it doesn't make her feel guilty so much as sad. Liv invites Lucy to stay and come to the park with them. "I'll still pay you for the whole day, regardless of how long you stay," Liv tells (not asks).

Lucy smiles, knows better than to argue and nods. "I'd love to come to the park."

"Good!" Liv responds, "Want some coffee?"

\

Barba sits in the office and signs his name on approximately one thousand pieces of paper. Then he takes notes for his upcoming grand jury. When that's finished, he writes up an answer tree for the defense's witness in an open-and-closed rape case that, against everybody's best advice, is going to trial. He feels like the next time he looks up, the sun is going down and it's after 6. For the billionth time, he looks at his phone and finds that he's got 12 new unread emails, 3 missed calls (1 from Rollins, 1 from an unknown number, and 1 from his mother), a text from his office assistant…

 _We'll talk tomorrow_.

Technically, it's still tomorrow. Barba takes a breath and opens his notebook. _Why does this bother you so much?_ He rolls the question over and over in his head.

Because he wants her to respect him?

Because he respects her?

Because he should have known better?

Because he knows _her_?

 _You drive my son crazy,_ his mother said, when they met for the first time.

You drive my son crazy.

(Whether or not he realizes it.)

/

Saturday, Liv is making lunch for herself and Noah. Lucy is coming by to watch Noah for a little while so Liv can go run a couple of errands.

"Noah!" she calls and he toddles over, staring up at her, "Are you ready to eat, baby?"

"Pasta, mama!" he squeals.

"Okay, go sit down, I'll bring you your pasta!"

Noah practically skips and goes to the small yellow seat Liv has set up at a small table for him. When he's sitting, she puts his plate in front of him and he claps excitedly. "Thank you, mama!" he says earnestly, just as there's a knock at the door.

She laughs, "You're welcome," as she turns to let Lucy in. She's surprised when the person behind the door is not her baby sitter, but instead, "Barba."

"Can we talk?"

It surprises her, really, because they haven't spoken since Wednesday night. Then again, she shouldn't be so surprised because she didn't reach out to him when she said she would and she feels badly for that. He's standing in front of her now and she can't quite explain or put words to why that makes her stomach flutter, even though she's still mad, "I can't really, Lucy is coming any minute and I have to run out for a little while—"

(She is mad at him, isn't she?)

"Please, Liv?"

She doesn't prevent her eyes from rolling, "Not Lieutenant?" she asks, finding her voice louder than she wants. She peers over at Noah who is happily putting some of the pasta in his mouth and rubbing some on his table. She knows better than to argue: "I have to go do a couple of things. We can meet later. I'll text you an address."

He turns to leave, feeling relieved, as Lucy walks up. "Who's that?" Lucy asks, her voice coy.

\

Olivia contemplates not sending the text and going home, but that's not her, not really, so she ducks into the first bar she runs across and sends a text to Barba: I'll be here for the next 15 minutes. Better run, Counselor.

/

When he gets there (with a meager 30 seconds to spare, she doesn't mind telling him), he can't help himself, so he says, "We could have just talked on Thursday."

She sips her wine, makes what she's dubbed now her Mommy Face, and says nothing.

The bar tender comes up and Barba says, "Glenlivet, neat, thank you," before turning back to Liv. "Listen, I—"

"You don't have to do this, you know," she cuts him off, not for the first time.

"If you'd let me get out a full sentence, then maybe I could—"

"Barba— _Rafael_. I'm not sure what you want me to say. You asked me to lie on the stand—"

"I didn't ask you to lie, I was just saying—"

"—the whole thing was a train wreck. I'm not just angry with you—"

 _Mira! You are angry with me!_ he thinks and nearly says, before realizing that's not quite as triumphant a discovery as his brain is leading him to believe in this moment.

"— I'm angry with the whole situation. Those women were sexually assaulted _because_ they were Muslim. How do we protect people from that kind of hatred?" Here, she rubs her face and takes another sip of wine.

"Olivia," he breaks in finally and his voice is gentle because he feels like maybe they've found their footing again and maybe they can come to some resolution, "we protect them the way we always do. The way _you_ always do. By telling the truth."

"That's not what you said when—"

He laughs, but it's not because it's funny, it's because he's so frustrated he could scream, "I didn't ask you to lie!" he very nearly yells. He's so loud, in fact, that the bar tender passes them again, looks at them both, and asks if everything is okay. "Yes, we're fine," they say at the same time.

Rafael swallows some scotch, "Olivia, I am begging you, don't hold this against me forever. I wasn't trying to get you to lie. I wasn't trying to convince you to do something you were uncomfortable with. I was trying to offer you a different perspective," she starts to look away and he finds himself grabbing her hand before he realizes it, which brings her gaze back to him, "I'm sorry that you misinterpreted what I said—"

"This could go on the record as the world's worst apology," she cuts him off _again_. She, gently, pulls her hand away and drinks what's left of her wine before she grabs her purse and stands, "I'll see you Monday, okay?"

"Liv, wait," he starts, but she's throwing down a 20 and turns back to him. What he finds so irritating, he realizes, is she won't _argue_ with him, she's _not_ the woman who drives him crazy in this moment, and he doesn't know how to fix it. "I'm sorry!" he blurts out. "I'm sorry I said shitty things in your office, I'm sorry that I made you think I wanted you to lie for the sake of my case, I'm sorry that this case wasn't as clean and tidy as it should have been. I don't— I don't want you to be angry with me and something feels like it's just getting bigger and bigger between us and I don't know how to make it right."

She pauses and stares at him. He's not someone who apologizes often. "Why is this bothering you so much?"

He's surprised to find his heart sinking, "It doesn't bother you?"

She answers with, "I just need time," which he notes isn't an answer and it feels like all of the air deflated from his lungs, a swift punch to the gut in the form of this realization: it's not just that she's his best friend or that she drives him all kinds of crazy. It's not she's the person he calls when he needs to talk or just when he needs to listen.

He loves her.

And that's why this bothers him so much.

"I'll see you Monday, okay?"

"Sure, yeah," he agrees, "See you Monday."

And just like that, she's gone.


	4. Buenos Noches

I'm back! This is about Barba's suspension, post Know it All in Season 18. There will be a few of these. Eventually. Spoilers abound, friends! You've been warned!

xx

\

Week 1

/

When he leaves the DA's office, Rafael feels an odd sense of relief and upset. Relief that he can still be a lawyer. Upset that it will take 6 weeks without pay for that to happen. Still, he's able to concede that all things considered, the outcome could have been worse. Significantly worse. At the end of this, he still can practice law and he's grateful for the realization that this is a positive and not a negative. There's nothing else for him and he's stared that possibility in the face.

He puts on his gloves, walks down the familiar stairs of the courthouse, and begins his forced, unpaid vacation.

This is fine, right?

He's at the curb, about to hail a cab, when he turns and looks back at the looming building behind him. He practically spends more time there than he does at his own apartment.

 _Thisisfinethisisfinethisisfine_.

His mother would say this is a blessing. He works too much. He could use a break. Listening to all those awful things, day after day. Sleeping on the couch in his office. Pouring over paper after paper. Signing things. Doing research. Questioning defendants. "You can finally do something _fun_ , mijo," that's what she'd say right now and say without saying that this, of course, would come after taking your mother out to dinner.

What _will_ he do? 6 weeks is the longest that he's gone without working since he began. It's a long time to spend without a schedule. Without a routine. Without his coworkers. His friends. What will he do without-

Scotch. This requires scotch.

/

"Another please," he says, once he gets the bar tenders attention, gesturing toward an empty scotch glass.

The bar tender is skeptical and says, "Are you sure, Counselor?"

Rafael smiles, ruefully, and nods his head, "Yeah. I won't be in court for a while."

Thankfully, the bar tender says nothing else, only pours him another glass, neat, and leaves him be. So far, his list of things to do while on suspension (that he is quite literally writing out because he doesn't know what else to do) include: get a dog; do the dry cleaning before it becomes a serious problem and not just a problem; take his mother out to dinner; drink lots more scotch; go to Cuba.

Each time he adds something to the list, he gets another glass of Makers Mark, because he's thinking things like _I'll get a dog_ and god only knows what on earth he'd do with one of those.

 _ThisisfinethisisfinethisisfineTHISISREALLYFUCKINGFINE_.

He sighs, puts a handful of dollars on the bar top, finishes his scotch, and gathers his things to leave.

\

He's standing outside the bar, waiting for a taxi. He's unsteady on his feet, he realizes this now that he's attempting to do something other than balance on a barstool. Taxis go by and he's not quite able to get his hand up high enough to signal one. Not because he's that drunk (he isn't, seriously), but because he's not sure where to go. Home? That almost feels like conceding defeat.

So instead, he finally gathers his guts and hails a taxi because he's just sober enough to and when he gets inside, he mumbles an address to the driver, who immediately takes off.

After a few minutes, Rafael says, "¿Qué hora es?" without even thinking. The driver peers at him in the rearview and Rafael is sure that he says something in return, but he's not exactly sure what. And now, it's possible ( _possible_ ) that he's too drunk to ask him to repeat himself and give himself away so instead he nods and closes his eyes, waiting to reach their destination.

/

Okay.

 _Okay_.

Rafael is standing at the foot of her stairs. Well. Accurately: he's standing outside, at the bottom of the stairs, that lead in to her apartment building. He still has to buzz up to her and let her know that he's here. It occurs to him that he doesn't know whether she's with Tucker still.

Okay.

Right foot, left foot. You can do this. And so he does, one foot at a time. Both feet plant on the first step and now there's only 3 more between him and the buzzer to get in. When did he get this drunk? What time _is_ it, anyway? He throws his head back, trying to make out which window belongs to Olivia, but obviously this is a needle in a haystack situation. Does he text her? Call her? Walk up those 3 godforsaken stairs? Turn around and go home?

"Shit," he says, losing his balance on the stairs and thankfully landing on both feet back on the sidewalk, "Fuck."

"Rafa?"

Oh fuck. _Oh fuck._ "Liv!" he says in surprise, a smile coming across his face like a wave. She's standing in front of him now, holding the door open, looking less than pleased, but he's never been happier to see a friendly (if angry) face. "Liv! I'm so sorry! I shouldn't be here. I know. I just—I didn't know—things are—" he's trying to grab one thought and run with it, but that's proving more and more difficult. "What time is it anyway?"

Liv rolls her eyes at him, "It's 3 in the morning! I heard you climbing around out here. Get inside, you'll catch a cold." She's holding the door open and realizing rapidly that he's been trying to do this for the last 20 minutes and has been wholly unsuccessful. "Oh, for—" she leans down and takes his hand, holding the door open with her foot. "Come on, now. Noah's upstairs. We've gotta move."

As he takes her hand, she realizes (he doesn't): he's holding on for dear life.

\

She sets him up on the couch. He keeps mumbling in Spanish, "perdón, perdón," and she keeps telling him, "no pasa nada," each time he apologizes. As she gets him to lie down and is just about to turn back to her bedroom, he grabs her hand.

"Gracias, mi amor."

Without hesitating she responds, "Buenos noches, Rafa," since drunk Barba is apparently monolingual, and she turns to go back to bed.

Mi amor.

Now that, that she wasn't expecting.


End file.
